


That Ever-Present Afterglow

by oorsprong, PolypusRegina



Series: That Unsteady Afterglow [14]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Beard Burn, Begging, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Kissing, M/M, Post-Canon, Prelude to Sex, Rimming, SO MUCH FLUFF, Shameless, Smut, Wedding, ass biting, darkside husbands, okay but what did you expect, sorrynotsorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-28
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-23 15:19:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6120721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oorsprong/pseuds/oorsprong, https://archiveofourown.org/users/PolypusRegina/pseuds/PolypusRegina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set a few years after the events of "Be Strong For Me", Kylo Ren comes home to the man who was once General Hux.  The future is bright but not without it's shadows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The seasons change gracefully on Kheel.  Summer gives way to fall in a slow progression that turns the forest floor a soft rusty gold.  At the edge of the woods a man sits on a tree stump with a datapad in one hand and a mug of tea spiked with retsa in the other.  From time to time he gazes out into the woods, listening to the soothing sound of the stream in the gully.  He’s listening for another sound too.  When the steady hum of a shuttle overhead reaches his ears he smiles and carries his things back into the small dwelling that faces the plains.  It was a farm once but no one has sown there for several orbits.  

 

The shuttle that lands in a nearby clearing is a masterpiece of engineering.  He’s certain it would draw locals from where they’re scattered all over the countryside were it not for it’s sole occupant; a man whose name lives in infamy throughout the galaxy.  

 

The cloaked figure striding down the ramp is a breathtaking sight.  He looms even larger than the man remembers; surrounded by a devastating aura of power.  Black hair tumbles loose over broad shoulders, tangling in the wind.  Black eyes burning with intensity sweep over the landscape.  This is the image that has inspired resistance soldiers to lay down their arms in despair.

 

The effect is utterly ruined when that stoic face breaks into a smile.

 

“Brell!”

 

Kylo Ren may be the biggest threat the New Republic has ever faced but to Brendol Hux Jr. he’s simply _Tavva-Silhar_ ; “beloved husband”.

 

Brendol walks steadily towards the ramp.  When he reaches the base he crosses his arms over his chest and grins.

 

“You should have landed an hour ago.”

 

“I know.  They’re retiring the Resurgent class.  I took one last tour of the Finalizer before they recycled her for parts.”  His husband catches him in a close embrace.

 

“Such a shame,” Brendol says with real feeling.  Commanding the Finalizer had been the high point of his military career.

 

“I like this.  It suits you,” Ren says almost shyly, stroking and tugging at the freshly trimmed beard Brendol’s allowed himself to grow in the six months he’s spent here in seclusion.  It’s a well-needed rest from his time on the front lines with Ren.

 

“How long can you stay?

 

“A week.  Two if we’re lucky.  Then you can decide whether you want to remain here on sabbatical or come back with me.”

 

They walk towards the house.  Brendol’s already made up his mind that he’s ready to be back at Ren’s side.  This is the longest they’ve ever been apart and much as he enjoys the seclusion of this place he often feels as though the better part of his heart is missing.

 

“Are you hungry?”

 

“Famished,” Ren says, pausing at the door and giving Brendol a sly smile,

 

“Surely that can wait until after supper,” he retorts, but it’s a lost cause because Ren throws him easily over one shoulder and carries him, laughing, to the bedroom.  

 

The bed is made up with a simple coverlet.  It’s the largest bed they could fit through the narrow doorway.  After all those nights crowded together in his bed on board the Finalizer he’s sworn they’ll always have plenty of space to sleep.

 

“Help yourself, why don’t you?” Brendol mutters as Ren languidly fondles the upturned buttocks over his shoulder with one large hand.

 

Ren gently lays him out on the bed and uses a fine tuned control of the force to unfasten his pants.

 

“I always do.  Roll over.”

 

“Mmm, not that I’m complaining but even for you this is sudden.”

 

He feels that long-missed presence in his mind; his husband idly scanning his thoughts.

 

“No, not that.  Not _yet._  I’ve just been aching to do this since I laid eyes on you.”

 

The larger man tugs his trousers and undershorts down to his thighs, exposing his naked rump, and bites down on the soft skin on the underside of one cheek, prompting Brendol to cry out.  Ren growls and sucks on the tender spot before planting a kiss there.

 

Brendol would blush if there were any shame left in him.  He’s being marked with a love bite because he’s married to exactly that sort of possessive bastard.

 

“You know that’s all yours, don’t you?  You don’t have to stake a claim on it.”

 

“You enjoyed that.”

 

He really did.  With a smirk he rolls onto his back, kicking his pants off the rest of the way.  Ren undresses, his haste betraying his eagerness.  He’s always been this way; as if the lonely soul who shared his bed that fateful long-ago night still lurks in the back of Ren’s consciousness.

 

In mind of this, Brendol takes him in his arms and caresses the familiar contours of that sorely missed face, tracing the scar with his thumb.  Ren runs curious fingers through his beard and pulls him in close for a nuzzle.  When their lips finally meet the knight makes a noise of such unbridled pleasure that Brendol can’t help but smile into the kiss.

 

“Softer than I expected,” Ren muses.  “It tickles.  I like that.”

 

Pleased by this assessment, Brendol pulls him into a longer kiss--an only mildly selfish endeavor when the sensation is just as new for Ren as it is for himself. It's foreign, of course, but good. It doesn't take long for Brendol to come to that conclusion, especially not when Ren seems more fond of kissing than ever, treating it like a main event and less of a means to an end. It was always something they'd been fond of, of course, but not quite like this, with Ren only pausing to nuzzle into the wiry-soft hair in between kisses and gentle bites.

 

Brendol winds a lock of black hair around one finger in the silence after they've finally parted, idle and curious.

 

“Keeping it long, then?”  He knows full well that Ren is sifting through his thoughts on this; seeing his pleasure at being able to run his fingers through that glossy mane.  He’s grown attached to the way it spills over them when they’re intimate.  Sensing the force-user accessing these memories he projects an image in his mind’s eye of Ren as he stepped off the shuttle, focusing on the way the wind lifted his hair and how breathtakingly handsome Brendol found him in that moment.

 

Those luminous dark eyes fill with something unnameable and Ren’s lips are almost reverent when they find his again.  

 

Brendol is in no mood to rush him despite the heat blooming there in his chest, trickling down to pool in his belly with every brush of lips against his own. It's so gently, _painfully_ slow, but it's perfect. Or maybe he only feels that way because it's Ren who’s setting the pace--Ren, who hardly ever does anything slowly at all. It's surprising and it's not, when those needs are so long overdue. Quick to start and slow to savor. Except…  He has a sneaking suspicion that it's not going to last very long like that at all. And he's perfectly alright with that, too.

 

It isn't a mere suspicion for long.  Soon enough, Ren pulls away from their kiss and leaves him breathless, flashing that crooked grin of his as he settles back on his knees. Brendol doesn't bother asking what he's up to. He's pretty sure he knows the answer to that, too, because there's a look in his husband’s eyes that he knows all too well.

 

Brendol lets his back arch just a little as Ren slips his hands up under his shirt, shoving it up over his chest to help rid him of it entirely. A second later and he's left with nothing at all.

 

“I do hope you're planning on joining me sometime in the near future,” he teases fondly, reaching up to curl a fingertip into the waist of Ren’s shorts. But he doesn't tug, not just yet. It feels like a decision he should leave up to Ren, who's looking at him like he might just devour him whole.

 

Except Ren doesn't move to shed that last piece of clothing, not yet. Brendol doesn't have the time to be disappointed, though, not when Ren’s ducking back down to claim his mouth again, this time almost even a little playfully, coaxing his lips apart to lick into his mouth and deepen their kiss.

 

It manages to feel so intensely possessive without being pushy, which...seems to have become the overarching theme of their relationship. It's give and it's take, and over time they've found that balance that settles so perfectly between them.

 

Brendol’s hands find their way into Ren’s hair again, tangled in the dark waves as they kiss. They don’t stay there for long, despite how thoroughly he’s always enjoyed the feeling. He’s willing to sacrifice it for what he wants, and right now, that’s to have Ren pinned beneath him.

 

It used to be a surprise when Ren let him switch their positions so easily. He’s stronger, he’s _broader_. And maybe there’s still a tiny hint of it there in the back of his mind, but Brendol mostly just revels in the feeling, nudging Ren over onto his back so he can press down on top of him and kiss him breathless all over again.

 

He idly makes note of the feel of Ren’s hands all over him, curious fingers brushing through his beard again before they drift lower, over his chest, around his hips and up his back. They hardly seem to stop, as if he wants so badly to touch every inch of him at once. Brendol knows the feeling.

 

Eventually though, he forces himself to ease up just a little. He lets their lips part as he cradles Ren’s face in his hands; lets the pads of his thumbs sweep gently over the sharp contours of his jaw, his cheek.

 

He pulls back a little further. It feels like it's been an eternity, and yet only as if it were yesterday that he'd last stared into those dark eyes.

 

“What’s on your mind?”

 

Brendol blinks at him.  “You.  Obviously.”

 

“Mm, no.  There’s something else.”  Ren reaches up to brush a lock of hair out of his eyes for him.  “There’s something on your mind.”

 

“I’m surprised you haven’t gone looking for it.”

 

Ren frowns, looking slightly disappointed.  “It’s different with anxious thoughts.  You know I respect your privacy.  I wouldn’t… not unless you wanted.  But you _are_ worried about something.”

 

“I’m not worried exactly I’m just… I’ve been thinking, I suppose.”

 

Ren won’t say the Supreme Leader’s name-- prefers not to mention him in this place.  It’s too sacred.  But he looms like a shadow over every part of their lives.  Brendol knows he’s been allowed this by too narrow a margin to take it for granted.  Ren is the comfort he brazenly clings to.  It would be foolish of him to pretend that he isn’t the one being protected in the grand scheme of things.

 

No doubt Ren is finally listening in on these thoughts because he touches Brendol’s face and says, “I know.”

 

_Do you?_

 

“I wish you could see the way things are unfolding out there.  It’s amazing, Brell.  We’re winning this war.  It’s to your credit.  You see that, don’t you?  You were patient with me and I’ve put what I’ve learned into practice.”

 

Brendol nods and offers his husband a half-smile, unable to shake the feeling that this victory will be hollow if Ren’s master decides he’s called for some new purpose.

 

“Brendol.”

 

“Hm?”

 

“He’s afraid of me.”

 

Snoke.  He’s talking about Snoke.

 

“What makes you think that?”

 

Ren slips his arms around his husband again and pulls him close so that they’re almost nose to nose.  It’s hard to resist the urge to nuzzle him there.  That damned delicious nose is so distracting.

 

“I’ve seen it.  I’m not supposed to see it but I’ve seen it.  My power has surpassed his expectations.  That’s also to your credit.”

 

He thinks about this for a moment; comes up blank.  “I don’t understand.”

 

“The Supreme Leader is alone.  That’s the path he’s chosen.  It’s the path he would have chosen for me if you hadn’t come along.  You’re my strength, _Tavva-Silhar_.  You’ve always been.”  Ren brings his hand to his mouth and kisses it.

 

Brendol smiles back at him.  “I’m glad you think so.”

 

“I know so.  Don’t you know I live for the promise of seeing you safe?  If I could power a weapon with the passion I feel for you I could destroy all life in this galaxy.”

 

The laugh that comes up out of him is completely unguarded.  He can’t help it.  It’s such a Kylo Ren thing to say; absurdly dramatic and somewhat terrifying.

 

“What a thought.”

 

Brendol slides off Ren and rolls onto his side so he can rest his head on his husband’s shoulder and slip an arm around him.  He’s been thinking about this on and off for the past six months they’ve been apart.  The separation was his idea.  As hard as it was on him he needed to spend some time in seclusion.  Helping to engineer the victory of the first order took up most of his time.  And there were other plans to be made-- plans of a more private nature.  He tucks that thought away, worried it might be picked up.

 

“General Fiiranza asked about you,” Ren says in the silence.

 

“Did she?”

 

He really rather likes Fiiranza.  He hadn’t at first, of course.  She’d taken his command.  He recognized the same thirst for greatness in her eyes.  One to watch, that woman.  Once he became familiar with her methods he re-evaluated his opinion of her.  What won him over in the end was her evident respect towards his husband.  She called him “My Lord” and consulted him regularly but showed no fear of his awesome power.  He admires the merciless and calculating way she operates.  As they speak she is out among the stars waging war on the dwindling Resistance.  Even the New Republic’s open acknowledgment of their guerilla force has done nothing to bolster them.  Those two sad echoes of a collapsed government will drag each other into oblivion.  

 

Under Fiiranza’s command the First Order’s military force has become a galactic juggernaut.  With Ren at her side there may be nothing she cannot accomplish.  Brendol grieves the loss of that glorious position only a moment.  If he and Ren had figured things out in those long ago days perhaps they could have conquered it all together.  But at what cost?  He might never have known the simple joy of lying here in a bed all their own with Ren’s comforting heartbeat close to his ear.

 

Which reminds him of the other thing he likes about Fiiranza.  She sees their relationship clearly.

 

They’d gone to a formal dinner on board to welcome Kylo Ren back after a period of absence.  He’d been at his husband’s side, of course.  His position had been as an unofficial advisor.  In Snoke eyes he was a non-entity; not even worthy of consideration so long as he didn't interfere with his disciple's training.  To the First Order’s top brass, on the other hand, he remained an invaluable resource.  Certainly some who had served under him had a hard time adjusting to his new position and there would always be the stares, the whispers, the mocking smiles.  He’d heard of a rumor that Kylo Ren was an inhuman being that preyed off sexual energy and held Brendol Hux in thrall as though under a spell.  As though he would wake up some morning and wonder what the hell had happened to the past few years of his life.

 

That evening a few surprised glances had been noted as Ren, their guest of honor, went to the trouble of doing the droid attendant’s job refilling Brendol’s wine glass.  The small gesture of caretaking had touched him deeply and no doubt baffled many of the officers.  Fiiranza had only nodded as if to say, _so this is how it is._  She didn’t worry about the how or why of it.  She merely recognized that this Lord Ren had a certain devotion towards his partner and adjusted her reactions accordingly.  He was important to Ren so he became important to her.  Maybe it bothered him a little that this respect was based off her colleague’s merit but it sure as hell beat the way Mitaka cast little worrying glances his way, as if he were still General Hux and merely affecting this role in some twisted prank.

 

“The General expressed her hopes that I would return with you,” Ren continues.

 

Brendol nods, feeling an odd pang of self-pity at the way Ren refers to her simply as “the General”, as he might once have referred to him.

 

“Brell…”

 

“It’s fine.  I get nostalgic sometimes.  It’s a very human condition.”

 

“So is jealousy.”

 

“It doesn’t matter, _Nymminill_ , you’re with me now.  All in all I think I got the better part of this bargain."

 

“You know I thought about you every day,” Ren says, wrapping a comforting arm around his shoulders.  “Not a moment went by that you weren’t on my mind.  Especially in the evenings.  Meditation is all well and good but…”

 

“Oh really?  Are we talking about certain… activities?”  Still snuggled in the crook of Ren’s arm. he rolls over to check the expression on his face.  It isn’t quite what Brendol had in mind when he’d first confirmed Ren’s suspicions about his lingering jealousy.  But that isn’t to say he isn’t one-hundred percent on board with the direction things have gone, either. It wasn’t his primary goal, but he isn’t about to let it go, not when Ren has that almost shy sort of smirk curving his lips, eyes blown dark as he thinks back on the last few months apart. It would have been enough, simply knowing he was on Ren’s mind at all. Anything else is a bonus that he’s more than happy to take.

 

“I know I can’t have been the only one,” Ren teases him affectionately, letting his fingertips trace up and down Brendol’s arm where he still has it draped over his husband’s chest.

 

Two can play at that game.

 

“Of course not. But that doesn’t mean you’re off the hook when I ask for details.”

 

Ren gives a soft huff of a laugh, the auditory equivalent of rolling his eyes.  But Brendol knows the heat must be rising in his face the way it always does when they breach this sort of territory.  In the years they’ve been together he’s somehow managed to maintain a level of shyness about this type of intimacy; as though there are thoughts too private to be spoken aloud.

 

Instead he gradually receives an image of a very intimate and much missed act.

 

Thinking of Ren’s current obsession with his beard Brendol slyly sends him back an image of where else it might tickle.  Ren raises both brows and grins.  So he’d like that, then.  The thought of it stirs him too.  It’s been such a long time since he indulged himself and the image of Ren laid out before him baring his muscular backside, the tender nook hidden there begging to be teased with his tongue, is too thrilling to resist.

 

He coaxes Ren onto his stomach and hovers over him for a moment before planting a kiss between his shoulder blades.

 

“Do you remember the first time you let me try this?” Brendol murmurs, continuing a trail of kisses down the curve of Ren’s spine. “I doubt that’s the time you would have been fantasizing about, though. I was barely even passable at it.”

 

He isn’t above using his teeth to tug at the band of Ren’s shorts, dragging them down over the supple curve of his ass and letting them _snap_ just a little right at the soft crease at the top of his thighs. It earns him a sharp breath from his partner, not quite a gasp but just close enough to make him press a grin there against the soft skin.

 

“You weren’t _awful_ ,” Ren answers, already squirming just a little.

 

Brendol decides to take a page from Ren’s own book, and nip gently at the underside of one cheek.

 

“Not _awful_ , but not what you had in mind when you were pleasuring yourself, is that it? I wouldn’t blame you...  Maybe something like this, then.”

 

Brendol makes his point without any hesitation, using both palms to spread him open and follow the crease in all that soft flesh with the broad of his tongue. It gets him the reaction he wants at last, something more twitchy and visceral, another sharp noise that’s _definitely_ a gasp this time. But he isn’t ready to give it his all, not just yet. It’s merely a preview. Ren isn’t the only one capable of being a teasing bastard.

 

“ _Something like that_ ,” Ren answers, the words catching hard in his throat.

 

Brendol can't help the pleased little nod he gives-- which is really only for himself, since Ren can’t see behind him.  Then he pulls back, settling on his knees for a moment so he can strip his husband’s shorts the rest of the way off. He considers leaving them there, trapped around his thighs, but decides it would only prevent him from really pressing in close the way he wants.

 

He revels in the way Ren arches into it, lifting his hips a little to help drag them all the way down, and letting his knees slide just a bit further apart once he’s free of them. It leaves a rather convenient space there for him to fill, laying himself out between Ren’s legs so he can press in as close as he pleases without having to hunch over. It’s almost selfishly comfortable. But he’s certain Ren will come to appreciate it just as much.

 

“Something like this,” Brendol murmurs again, almost more to himself as he leans in to press a kiss to that little dip at the small of Ren’s back, just above the cleft of his ass. “But I doubt it felt exactly like _this_ now, did it?”

 

He's referring to the gentle rasp of his beard against Ren’s skin as he moves over him, and he's sure that his husband knows it, too. It’s new to them both, but Ren is the one getting the more dramatically foreign sensation. And he fully intends to make the most of it.

 

Ren doesn't quite answer, not with coherent words at least.  But it's good enough for him. It's all the permission he needs to continue, skimming over the curve of his rear and down, over the backs of his thighs.  He has a primary objective in mind, but he can't resist straying off-course just a little, especially not when he has so much plush, pale skin laid out in front of him, begging to be worshiped and marked.

 

He leans in to mouth at the crease there between Ren’s thigh and his ass, gentle at first before he lets his teeth press in just a bit. He can feel Ren jump a little beneath him, but he isn't sure it's from the soft bite. It's a sensitive spot to be sure, but he'd hardly sunk his teeth in enough to leave an imprint.

 

Brendol pauses, a theory popping up in his head that he's all too happy to explore. He leans back in, but this time moves to the other thigh, repeating his actions even more gently to that soft, warm crease. He nuzzles against him, acclimating himself to the way it feels when there's something else there between them. It's a little strange, to be sure, but he's quickly deciding it's not the bad sort. Especially not when Ren is reacting so strongly to it, muscles twitching and jumping under the assault like it's all he can do not to squirm.

 

Only then does it click at last.

 

“Are you ticklish here?” Brendol murmurs, unable to keep the fond amusement out of his voice. It’s difficult to believe that the feared Master of the Knights of Ren could even be capable of being ticklish.  Yet every so often, he stumbles across some new hidden spot that leaves him flushed and squirming--and not in the usual sort of way.

 

“Oh, _Nymminill_...  You still have some surprises for me.”

 

He flits his tongue across that sensitive furrow and Ren rewards him with a noise that might generously be called a giggle.

 

“Stop,” his partner whines, but there’s a playful note to it; one that begs further invitation.

 

 _Is this alright?_ Brendol pushes the thought out and waits for Ren to catch it.

 

The wave of affectionate assent that comes over him is so powerful that it takes him a moment to catch his breath.  Ren not only wants to be touched there, he wants to be thoroughly explored and maybe even scolded for this small secret.  As though there’s any place on his body that Brendol shouldn’t know intimately.  

 

“Stop?” Brendol repeats.  He nuzzles almost idly against him as he considers it, lets Ren’s quiet yet enthusiastic consent sink into the back of his thoughts. “Tell me why I should stop. Is it because you’re _embarrassed?_ Is that it? Is that why we’ve gone so long without me knowing such a place existed?”

 

Ren answers with a sound that isn’t quite an agreement but isn’t denial either; a huffy sort of whine that his husband knows all too well. It’s the noise he makes when he isn’t sure he’s allowed to want something. But Brendol is all too happy to project out another little thought--a reminder that whatever he wants, whatever he thinks he might like, he shouldn’t be ashamed of it.

 

“You know how I feel about us keeping secrets from each other,” he continues, a teasing smirk etched onto his features as he moves his focus to Ren’s other thigh, skimming up along the back of it before he lets his tongue swipe across that sensitive groove kept hidden from him for so long.

 

Well…’hidden’ isn’t quite the right word, not when he’s always been perfectly well-aware of its existence. Rather, it’s been horribly underappreciated and Brendol intends to remedy that.

 

But he doesn’t pause for another answer, not when he knows it isn’t coming. He pushes forward with his exploration, following the same path with his nose because he just can’t help himself. It earns him another shiver from Ren--another laugh so delightfully close to a giggle. It's almost as much fun as actually using his mouth on him the way he'd intended.

 

Almost.

 

Brendol continues his teasing for another moment or two, pressing little suckling kisses to the tender skin until he has to wonder if his teasing is become more torturous than pleasurable. Ren is still squirming beneath him, hips shifting in restless little twitches and rolls as if he can't decide if he wants to escape the torment or shamelessly beg for more. And the more it begins to feel like the former, the more Brendol wants to turn it into the latter.

 

He can't help but think to himself--and to Ren:

 

_I hope you've learned your lesson._

 

He swears he can hear a laugh catch in Ren’s throat, the sound half a wrung-out whimper and half a moan and Brendol is all too happy to drink up every last bit of it.

 

It’s all he needs to finally continue, to move his attention a little further up. Or rather, _inward_ , as Brendol nips gently at one cheek before using both hands to palm him open once more. He decides to be a little nicer now. His actions are far less teasing as he sweeps his tongue up along that delicate crevice and traces it around the tight clutch of his entrance. He plays at the sensitive rim for only a moment before pressing against him a bit more demandingly, suckling at the flushed skin to coax him open. It’s not a lot, but it’s enough to ease his tongue inside just a little and right now that’s all he really needs.

 

Another broken noise tumbles from Ren, drug up from somewhere in his chest as his knees slip on the sheets, sliding just another inch or two apart. It doesn’t make it that much easier to press inside him, but the unabashed _need_ that Brendol feels in the action is more than worth it.

 

And so he grips at him a little more tightly, letting his thumbs press into all that soft flesh to spread him open just a tiny bit more. It’s as wide as he’s willing to go before the stretch of it might be uncomfortable. This part isn’t supposed to be about opening him up, not really. It’s the step before they even get to that, lapping and nuzzling against the most intimate part of him so that Ren might be soft and pliant enough to take more. It isn’t as though they’ve never done this before. Far from it. But all those months apart have Brendol feeling more cautious than usual, not wanting their eagerness to cause his husband even the tiniest bit of discomfort if he can help it.

 

Brendol pauses for a moment, pulls back to admire the wreck he’s made of Ren. He can only see the side of his face that isn’t pressed into the pillow beneath him--but for once it isn’t his face that he’s enthralled with. It’s the way Ren’s skin has gone so red, his thumbs leaving bright white marks that quickly fade when he lets him go. And it doesn’t take long to realize it’s not the same shade of red that graces the knight’s skin when he’s flushed. In fact, Brendol feels the heat rise in his own face when the realization hits him--it’s beard burn.

 

For a moment, he’s honestly a little horrified, unaware that he might have that sort of effect. He isn’t exactly accustomed to this type of intimacy while sporting any serious facial hair. But the important thing is that it doesn’t seem to be causing Ren any discomfort. Brendol inwardly commends himself for stopping when he does, so that instead of leaving his poor husband’s skin raw and irritated, it’s a mere visual confirmation of just how over-sensitive his enthusiasm has left him. Brendol gets some auditory confirmation as well, when he runs his fingertips over the abused cleft of his ass and receives a trembling moan in return, Ren’s muscles jumping just a little as he shudders through it.

 

He strokes the spot a little more tenderly, making a mental note to rub balm over the reddened skin when they’re finished.

 

“Brell…”

 

“Hm?”

 

_Don’t stop._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 7/8 update - Katherine's done it again! Sweet and sexy art from this chapter to be found at her [tumblr!](http://katherine1753.tumblr.com/post/147115316647/something-like-this-brendol-murmurs-again)


	2. Chapter 2

Brendol Hux has proven time and time again that he's more than capable of being cruel in order to get what he wants. He isn't above doing whatever it takes to accomplish his goals. But in no universe is he capable of refusing Kylo Ren his pleasure; not when he begs for it so beautifully.

 

It's two little words, and yet Brendol feels them trickle down his spine like an intimate caress.

 

_Don't stop._

 

Brendol leans down to press a kiss to the small of Ren’s back-- _Don't worry--_ and another a little further up his spine-- _I’ve got you._

 

He feels his husband finally relax a little beneath him, sinking down into the mattress with every soothing touch, every gentle brush of lips against his skin. It's good. It’s a step in the right direction, reassuring Brendol that he won't be too tightly wound to enjoy what he has planned. He won't be anything if not incredibly thorough, determined to take Ren apart piece by piece until he's a spent, shaking, _satisfied_ mess.

 

And so he finally drags himself back up, shifting to kneel behind Ren after he leans over to retrieve the vial of oil he keeps on his bedside table. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't careful not to use it all up, eager for the day they would finally be reunited. The last thing he wanted was for their passion to be cut short because he'd used up all their supplies. Brendol is nothing if not a very thorough planner and sex is no exception.

 

Ren lifts his head a little to watch him, probably curious to see what he's doing even though he must have some idea.  Brendol debates putting him on his back but decides against it.  He doesn't want to be swayed by the delicious flush coloring Ren’s chest or the pearls of pre-come dripping down his pretty cock as it curves up toward his belly. Brendol still needs his focus here for just a little while longer.

 

He leans over Ren to kiss his shoulder, the slope of his neck, nuzzling against his nape as he sighs his beloved’s name. He presses a few more down along Ren’s spine, easing himself back until he's comfortable there between the knight’s thighs once more.  Ren’s thoughts flood his mind.  For a moment it’s hard to separate his own desire from the barrage of sensations.  It’s untranslatable save for an underlying thread of want too powerful to break down into sounds and syllables.  

 

“Mine,” Brendol murmurs, running a soothing hand across the base of Ren’s neck and down that broad back.  “All mine.”

 

He _pushes_ that declaration out to his eager knight who sends back:

 

_Yours.  All yours.  All for you._

 

 _Usivvarill,_ Brendol offers, touched by the intensity of the surrender, _my jewel beyond price._

 

The emotion that sweeps over him from Ren is less extreme and more focused; a small vibration echoing in his mind.  It’s a heady mixture of warmth and want and praise.  Ren is giving him a taste of that inner ecstasy, sharing without overwhelming.  He’s getting better at adjusting those barriers for Brendol’s benefit.

 

His former General rewards him by settling a firm hand on his upper thigh and stroking and kneading the muscle there to ground him in the physical; one last little warning promising pleasure to come. He’s fairly certain Ren doesn’t really need it, but after the flood of emotion poured back and forth between them he feels the need to add this small precaution, grounding them both as they shift from those innermost feelings back to the outer ones.

 

Ren relaxes into the touch, head pillowed on his folded arms, face tipped to one side so he might be able to catch Brendol out of the corner of his eye. But they’ve been together for too long for either of them to be uncomfortable in such a position, unable to see their partner’s every move. It’s a level of trust that comes so easily to them now, and Brendol can feel it every step of the way.

 

He isn’t about to rush, but he’s eager when he finally moves to slick up his fingers, pouring a bit of the oil into his palm before setting the bottle aside where they won’t risk knocking it over. When he settles back on his knees he lifts his hand and lets some of the oil drip down along the cleft of Ren’s ass. There’s really no purpose to the action aside from his own enjoyment, watching the glistening drops run over his skin and down into that private nook.

 

He isn’t sure that Ren can feel it, not after the oil had been warmed in his palm, but he swears he can see the ripple of goosebumps erupt over his skin anyway; a shiver across his pale form. Brendol uses his other hand to coax him back open then, spreading the supple flesh to grant him access once more. He dips slick finger tips into that bared crevice, swipes them down to gather up the oil pooling there and urge it where he wants it, swirled silky and thick around Ren’s already abused rim. It earns him another indescribable noise, a sigh of relief and a soft hiccup of a gasp all in one.

 

Brendol almost expects a louder noise from him when he finally sinks his middle finger inside, but all he can hear is the sound catching in the knight’s throat, as if it was more than he was prepared to give. But even though it comes out a little choked, Brendol knows it isn't a noise of discomfort--not in the slightest.

 

And so he presses onward, letting that first finger sink all the way to the hilt. It's barely a stretch at all but it's a start, and Brendol is in no hurry to rush this part. It's taken him a while to get to this point, to be this confident in his abilities, but there's something about getting to touch Ren and bring him pleasure without having to worry about his own…  He might just be addicted to it. There's irony in there somewhere, finding an almost selfish sort of pleasure in being able to control Ren’s, he's sure. But it's the last thing on his mind right now.

 

Brendol curls his finger down a little inside him, not quite searching for that secret spot but intent on _very nearly_ brushing against it as he drags his finger back out. It's hard to be sure if he succeeds when Ren is practically trembling beneath him already, like every touch and tease is more than he can handle.

 

Though he's taking his time, Brendol decides to add a second finger relatively quickly, gently working it in alongside the first. It's a little more of a stretch now. He can feel it in the way Ren’s body tenses just a little, that silky passage clenching around him before it slowly relaxes under his ministrations. Brendol works him open slowly but surely, nudging his fingers deeper before pulling them free again, repeating the pattern until it feels like Ren’s muscles might finally be adjusting to the rhythm.

 

Soon enough he starts getting clues telling him that Ren’s starting to enjoy himself a bit more. He's slid his free hand up to rest on his husband’s hip, idly holding him in place, and with it, he can feel the way he's arching his back just a little, body tensing and relaxing in waves. He can feel Ren start to roll his hips back, a restless sort of shift that he has to resort to when he doesn't have the leverage for anything more demanding. It brings a grin to Brendol’s lips, knowing he's starting to get a little impatient.

 

“You think you can take more?” He hums almost innocently, smoothing his palm over Ren’s hip like one might touch a skittish animal. Ren huffs out a noise that sounds like an attempt at a laugh but no coherent words follow.

 

“I'm sorry, I don't think I caught that...  Was that a ‘yes’?”

 

As he speaks Brendol finally curls his fingers back down where they're buried inside him, seeking out that hidden bundle of nerves and stroking over it with a maddeningly light touch. It earns him the reaction he's so eager for as Ren jolts beneath him, fluttering tight around his fingers as he gasps out a desperate, ‘ _Yes’._

 

Brendol considers the opportunity to be a little cruel, teasing his poor husband the way he only ever has when Ren’s riled him or begged for it. But he supposes he has his answer, breathless and ragged but still perfectly, beautifully clear. And in any case, he knows this isn't his only chance to drag things out to torturous extremes. They're only just getting started.

 

Still, he can't resist one last affectionate taunt as he pauses just long enough to lean forward, curled down over Ren to nuzzle at the spot just beneath his ear.

 

“Well... why didn't you say so?”

 

He’s gotten so good at this part--the teasing banter and fond jibes, letting the tension build until it feels as though he’s about to snap.  Now that he’s built up his patience he finds the rewards to be well worth the wait.

 

Before he can pull back Ren surprises him and acts first, unfolding his arms just long enough to reach back and thread his fingers into Brendol’s hair and keep him from escaping. Ren turns his head to claim a kiss that's more of a bite before he finally lets him go with a smirk, undoubtedly feeling a bit smug at the look of dumbstruck surprise on Brendol’s face he hardly ever gets to see. As it is, it's only there for a brief flash before he can get ahold of himself.

 

Brendol rolls his eyes but there's a grin of his own curling his lips as he finally pulls back, kneeling between Ren’s thighs once more. He keeps him pinned with a hand pressed to the small of his back, and the other pumps his fingers a little deeper, a little faster. Ren’s squirming now, spine curved and hips rocking shamelessly back against the intrusion. Brendol can feel the eager heat pouring off of him, thick and heady like the flood of emotions that surges back up from time to time.

 

Brendol glances down between them as he finally drags his fingers free, slowly so he can savor the way Ren’s body clings to him so beautifully--and the way he sighs, bittersweet relief and unbridled desire.

 

Only then does Brendol finally move to put Ren on his back, stroking his cock to slick himself up with the rest of the oil so his hands are mostly dry when he reaches for him. He nudges at his hip, urges him to roll over, and just as soon as he does, Brendol is on him again, sinking down to claim a proper kiss. There's heat in it, passion and _feeling_ but it isn't rough. It isn't rushed.  Ren sighs heavily into the kiss, pressing those sumptuous lips against his husband’s in a useless bid for dominance.  He’s aching for it.  Even if he weren’t the stronger of the two he could have Brendol on his back in an instant.  But sometimes his knight needs a firm hand to guide him-- a place to surrender. He prides himself on being that place for Ren, now more than ever.

 

He shifts on his knees just a little, slotting himself between Ren’s thighs to bring them impossibly close together. It’s a perfect fit. It always is. It feels like everything comfortable and safe, like coming home, and their breath mingles in a soft sigh. It's the first time they actually pause and stop kissing long enough to breathe, and Brendol can't help but let his nose brush over that pale cheek and the corner of his mouth, pressing one last soft peck there before he pulls back. He doesn't move too far, though, propping himself up on one elbow so he has the space he needs between their bodies so he can guide himself into place. It's a gap that won't be there for long, but for now it's a necessary evil.

 

Ren’s dark eyes drag over him almost worshipfully--like he's already a little delirious, and they haven't even gotten to the best part. It's so painfully endearing that Brendol is tempted to dive right back in for another kiss but he checks the urge.  If he keeps getting distracted they might be here all day and he’s determined to fit at least one orgasm into the immediate future.

 

“You're ready?” Brendol murmurs, knowing the words are hardly necessary. He knows the answer already, at least on a physical level. He's been so achingly thorough with him, how could he not be prepared?

 

Ren erases any lingering doubts as he leans up to press one more kiss to Brendol’s lips.

 

There's a nudge against his consciousness then, pushing all that affection, all that trust and _love_ straight into Brendol’s mind.  It's all he needs to finally move again, chest filling with a blooming warmth that settles there.

 

He uses his free hand to reach down between them, curling his fingers around his length so he can guide himself into place at long last. He can hear the wet click of Ren’s throat when the head of his cock catches on his rim, but where anticipation would normally make a person go tense all over, the knight is still so warm and pliant beneath him, opening up so beautifully. He doesn't even have to remind him to relax as he finally presses inside, Ren’s body inviting him deeper like it _needs_ him there, filling him up.

 

Once he can let go of himself, Brendol shifts to close that gap between them once more. He lets his hand sweep up along the side of Ren’s thigh, urging him to wrap his legs a little higher around his hips. Those long limbs curl just a little more tightly around him, and suddenly the angle is perfect, letting him slide in to the hilt.

 

Ren lets out a shuddering exhale when he does, like a breath held for too long, and his arms wrap around Brendol’s shoulders to drag him in even closer. He goes all too willingly, keeping one hand curled around Ren’s thigh while the other slides up under the pillow beneath them, giving him the bit of leverage that he needs.

 

Once he's pressed as deeply as he can go he gives them both a moment to adjust, his heart pounding noisily behind his ribs. Their mouths brush just a little, lips parted as they pant for breath.  Ren blushes beautifully when he’s this aroused.  Brendol drinks in the sight of him, fixates on the details of those thick lashes under heavy brows, the small moles that grace his skin in a random pattern, the absurdly perfect curve of his nose.  He fixes the image in his mind and all the pleasure it gives him; offers Ren the sight of his own face through the filter of adoring eyes.   _See what you do to me._  

 

The response Brendol receives isn't spoken in so many words--or even any at all. It's in the way a sheepish grin tugs at the corners of Ren’s lips, wide and breathless as though he can't help himself. The next noise that tumbles from his husband’s mouth is half a laugh and half a moan, and to Brendol it's one of the most beautiful sounds in the world.

 

Ren curls his arms a little more tightly around his shoulders, tugging him back down into another kiss, and Brendol can't think of a reason not to indulge him. It’s always the best option when words don't seem good enough, and right now, he isn't sure either of them could even form a coherent sentence if they tried. It's especially true once he forces himself to focus at last, concentrating on physical sensations and the movement of their bodies together as he drags his hips back to pull out before sinking inside once more.

 

That first thrust has just a little more force behind it, pressing himself a bit more quickly to the hilt. It isn't by much, but it's just enough to earn a sharper moan from his husband, who throws his head back and lets his eyes flutter closed, leaving an opening for Brendol to nip along his jawline.  He pauses to nibble at his chin and makes his way back down the underside of that graceful neck, teasing with soft passes of his lips.  The kiss he plants at the hollow of Ren’s throat provokes a whimper.  His knight reaches up to clamp a large hand around the back of Brendol’s neck and tug at the hair at the base of his head. It's not a terribly harsh tug, not like some of the times they'd spent together, where passion and aggression made for plenty of dark marks and lingering aches. It's just enough to have him sighing out a soft, ragged groan of his own as he presses his lips to Ren’s pulse.

 

A moment later and he's finally working up to a real rhythm, a pace that's deep and thorough and mostly steady. His thrusts have him pulling most of the way out each time just to feel the silky-hot drag of his skin against Ren’s as he drives himself back inside. It puts a little more space between them than he'd usually like but it's more than worth it when it forces him to slow down a bit. He gets to feel every shudder and tremor of Ren’s body as he moves, pulsing in waves each time he sinks into him and brushes past that over-sensitive spot.

 

Brendol knows it's only a matter of time before it’s all too much. They've been so tightly wound ever since Ren’s shuttle first touched down.  It feels as though every last second has been building to this.

 

They steal the occasional kiss while they can, when their lungs allow them enough air to indulge in it. Eventually their kisses are hardly kisses at all as their lips brush against each other's, breath mingling hot and damp with each gasp and pant. Brendol can feel the tension rising in his husband’s body, muscles coiling tightly. But he isn't sure Ren can come like this, not just yet. He needs just a little more. And Brendol is more than willing to give it to him. Eventually.

 

He nips gently at Ren’s lower lip one last time, nuzzling against his chin before he finally forces himself to pull back, pushing himself up on his elbow just a tiny bit more. He gets his free hand back between their bodies, curling it around the knight’s neglected cock, and it earns him another hiccup of a moan just by holding him there in his palm. Brendol doesn't exactly slow his thrusts, but the movement of his hips grows a bit less frantic, keeping himself buried deep as he rocks into him.

 

It's only after Brendol continues to hold him there without any immediate intent that Ren finally lifts his head, blinking his eyes open to flicker over his husband in a way that looks so sweetly _painfully_ confused. For a second the former general considers having a little mercy on him, but the temptation to push for more is too great to resist.

 

“ _Nymminill..._ You're so close, aren't you?” He murmurs, his voice soft and teasing, fondness laced through every word  As he speaks he finally tightens his grip on Ren’s cock, curling his fingers just a little more snugly around him as he strokes him slowly from root to tip.

 

Ren nearly sobs then, his back arching and blunt nails pressing sharp into his shoulders where he's still clinging to him. But it isn't quite the sound of relief. It's a noise Brendol hears all too rarely; a noise born of desperation and need, a broken moan that means Ren is right at the razor’s edge. Brendol quite literally holds his beloved’s pleasure there in the palm of his hand. And it's that heady sense of power and control and _trust_ that threatens to have him coming undone before he can get Ren there first.

 

He leans back in then, curling himself down over Ren’s body so he can taste the sound of his own name on his husband’s lips. And it's a featherlight touch, barely a fraction of an inch away when he whispers:

 

“Ask nicely…”

 

Brendol coaxes him along with the soft pad of his thumb, rubbing along the underside of Ren’s cock. He presses it against the sensitive spot just under the head and Ren _wails_.

 

“ _Please_ \--!”

 

It's a single syllable wrenched from Ren’s chest, and Brendol knows it's the best he's going to get. Ren isn't the type to beg or to plead. He rarely ever has a reason to, not when he’s usually the one wielding all the control. So when Brendol manages to push him to that point it's all the more satisfying. And in all good conscience, he can't go on torturing him. Especially not when his own need for relief is growing impossible to ignore. He readjusts his grip one last time, twisting his wrist as he strokes him with generous intent.

 

He presses his mouth to that soft, vulnerable spot just beneath Ren’s ear and purrs, “ _Come for me._ ”

 

Ren does, like a string pulled so taut that it snaps. Brendol only manages to thrust himself all the way in one last time before he can feel it, the tight clutch of the other’s body fluttering around him as he finally succumbs to the sensation. Ren’s cock pulses in his hand, spilling between them, slicking Brendol’s grip where he's still working him through it. He's determined to give him every ounce of his focus, intent on dragging his release from him until his husband is a wrung-out mess... but even his iron will is tested when it finally crests, Ren’s fierce pleasure bleeding over into his own.

 

Brendol comes with a broken gasp, the sound muffled in the crook of Ren’s neck. His entire body tenses, everything going still before that dam finally breaks. It drains him, leaves him feeling hollowed out as he spills himself inside his partner.  But it's not an empty feeling. It's warm and fulfilling and everything he's so terribly missed in the past few months alone. And for a moment it threatens to overwhelm.  He manages to rein it all in, gathering it all back into his chest for safekeeping as he catches his breath and shifts so he can relax a little, pulling them both onto their sides.

 

Ren’s mouth finds his again, sending another, fainter jolt of pleasure through his abdomen.  He sucks softly at that plump lower lip, feels the twinned sensation of it from Ren.  It’s his husband’s favorite.  For all his unapologetic boldness where sex is concerned he’s missed out on many simpler pleasures.  Brendol’s had all the time in the world to fix that; eager to treat his affection-starved partner to all the small joys in his arsenal.  But there’s no greater enjoyment for him than savoring a leisurely kiss-- and Ren’s perfect mouth is unarguably suited for just this purpose.

 

“Brell,” Ren mumbles into the kiss.

 

“Hm?”

 

“Shlll-- mmm,” the knight pulls back so he can speak.  “Shouldn’t we be getting ready for company?”

 

Brendol freezes.  “You…. you _looked_?”

 

“...didn’t mean to.  It’s hard when we’re close.  I can’t always separate our thoughts.”  His voice is troubled as he admits this last, as though it’s something he’s been struggling with.   

 

With a sigh Brendol pushes himself up in bed, exhausted.  He desperately needs a shower.  “What else did you see?”

 

“Phasma’s coming in the afternoon but you’re not sure exactly when.  What’s she coming here for?”  Ren rolls over onto his back, giving him a lovely view of that ruddy chest glistening with sweat.

 

“It’s supposed to be a surprise.”

 

“I am surprised,” Ren says drily.

 

“It’s not exactly a courtesy visit.”  He runs a hand through his hair, doing a mental check of everything that needs to be done before she arrives.

 

Ren is still in the moment.  He sits up and nibbles flirtatiously on Brendol’s shoulder until he's given a good-natured push.  He slides off the bed and heads to the refresher.  

 

“Sorry, did you want to shower first?”  He calls back.  Typical.

 

“No, you go ahead.”  He’s nervous and not entirely sure why.  This is for Ren and that’s what he needs to focus on.  After a moment he opens the drawer in the nightstand and pulls out a small velvet pouch, turns it over in his hands.

 

It’s almost time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We ended up having to break this up into 3 chapters because there was too much ground to cover. Most of it being of the explicit sort. Well we're nothing if not thorough!
> 
> 7/14 edit: Katherine has outdone herself!!!! Here is some beautiful NSFW art from this chapter: [with a blushy butt too!](http://katherine1753.tumblr.com/post/147416094752/but-sometimes-his-knight-needs-a-firm-hand-to)


	3. Chapter 3

“So this is your legacy, Hux?”

 

Phasma never minces words.  She stands before him on the hill where she’s parked her transport looking exactly the same as the last time he laid eyes on her.  Maybe her hair is buzzed a bit shorter but he’s never paid attention to details like that.  She’s wearing civilian clothes; functional not stylish, but she looks good.  She looks healthy.  

 

No small talk between the two of them, it’s always been straight to business.  After a quick assessment of the situation-- Ren’s cleaning up after their meal and as soon as he joins them they can begin-- she puts down the bags she’s brought with her and fires off the question.

 

He’s irritated at the notion that he ought to justify anything to her but can’t stop himself.

 

“I destroyed the Hosnian System.  I wiped out better part of the senate.  I will see General Organa on her knees before this is over.  What more could I possibly offer the First Order?”

 

“Your leadership.”

 

“Fiiranza has done more in the past six months than I accomplished in my entire career.”  He hates admitting it but it’s true.  It would be a lie to tell it otherwise.

 

“Only because of the groundwork _you_ did.  Starkiller was your brainchild.  Besides, Fiiranza is not as… nuanced as you are.  You and I know that this type of warfare requires meaningful victory, not just casualties.  The First Order has become heavy-handed in it’s approach.  Soldiers and rebel sympathizers are one thing but there are also innocents--”

 

He puts up a hand before she can say any more.

 

“Phasma, you and I both know there are no innocents.  Even Organa must realize that.  Do you think she stays awake at night fretting over the deaths of the hundreds of the thousands of loyal Imperialists on board either of the two Death Stars?”

 

“I don’t know,” Phasma says, sounding cautious, “They weren’t exactly civilians...”

 

“Civilians,” Brendol scoffs.  As if anyone in this damnable galaxy has a pass to avoid the everyday horrors of war.

 

“Civilians could be better used for the First Order rather than wasted pointlessly.”

 

“I’m not debating that, but moralizing is a luxury for philosophers.   It’s for us to promote order.  Regardless, we are at war and there will always be a corresponding casualty rate.  Fiiranza will bring the final blow to the New Republic that shatters any influence they have left.  She will be the one they follow under Snoke’s guidance.  I’m out of the picture.  So long as I am there to see Organa stand before the First Order it’s no concern of mine.”

 

“What is your obsession with that woman?”

 

“She hurts him,” Brendol blurts out before remembering where he is and who he’s talking to.

 

“I presume you’re talking about Lord Ren.”

 

“Who else?”  He’s irritated with himself for mentioning it at all.  It’s too personal.  The memory of Ren clutching at him in the middle of the night wracked with fear of _her_ , of confronting her, haunts him.  His husband still has nightmares.  Sometimes the images manifest in his own dreams.  Organa is force-sensitive and he understands that somewhere inside himself Ren is afraid of their connection.  Brendol knows the heavy burden of a parent who’s been elevated to some measure of status.  He even thinks he understands the shame of coming from a family born of the rebellion.  But this fear is baffling to him.  All he knows is that there are memories inside that are hurting the man he loves and he’d do anything to make that pain stop.  If that means showing him that Organa is not some untouchable entity menacing him from afar then he’ll bring her down himself.

 

“The point is,” he continues, “that I have a new priority.”

 

“Kylo Ren.”

 

“Yes.  Kylo Ren.  And what’s wrong with that?  I’ve been stripped of my rank and left to Snoke’s mercy.  Even officers are allowed families.  Why shouldn’t I be?”

 

“That’s oddly sentimental.”

 

“I love him, Phasma.”

 

She puts her hands on her hips.  “Why?”

 

He thinks about that-- has to think about it because it’s not a question he’s even asked of himself.  The small reasons are endless and the sum of them don’t add up to a clear picture.  He thinks of that lonely young man who admitted without a hint of shame that he only wanted to be touched.  There was a strange purity in that-- something that normally would have been stripped away, relegated to a dark corner of the subconscious after childhood.  It took courage to ask for it and maybe a lack of self-awareness.  Wasn’t that what he himself wanted after all?  Isn’t this what he still wants?  It was better than sex in those days; coming home to him just to huddle close in one another’s arms and take refuge from an inhospitable world.  Maybe he only loves Ren because Ren loves him back.  That would be enough.

 

“I don’t know,” he says finally.  “Things happen sometimes.  There doesn’t always have to be a reason.”

 

“That doesn’t sound like the Hux I know.”

 

“Life is… complicated.  You live it and then you have to live with it.  I don’t want to live it-- don’t want to live _with_ it without him.  Do you know that the force promotes longevity?  Even if Ren and I are granted long lives it’s likely he’ll outlive me by decades.  We don’t have a lot of time together.  What’s galactic history next to that?”  

 

Phasma laughs, a soft sound that surprises him.

 

“What?”

 

“You _are_ in love with him.   I concede the point.  Nothing matters so long as you and Ren are together.”

 

“I didn’t say that, exactly.”

 

“You don’t have to.  Would that we could all be as secure in our choices.  Once the war’s over I suppose you’ll have him all to yourself.

 

“Yes,” he says firmly.  “I will.  That’s why it’s important you’re here today.”

 

“Have you told him yet?”

 

“No,” Brendol says, allowing himself a small, tight smile in front of Phasma.  “It’s a surprise.”

 

“Well perhaps now is as good a time as any.”  She glances behind him, alerting him to to the fact that Ren is coming up the hill.

  

If Phasma finds it odd to see Ren in this relaxed state she doesn’t remark on it.  Instead she nods deferentially and hands him one of the two garment bags.

 

Ren takes it and looks slyly up at Brendol.

 

“So you want a formal wedding.  Now?”

 

Phasma breaks into an uncharacteristic grin.

 

“Couldn’t help looking, could you?” Brendol sighs.

 

“Not my fault,” Ren says idly, peering into the bag.  “You’re too excited.  You’re broadcasting.  This is blue.”

 

“It’s your best color.”

 

Ren looks as though he can’t decide whether to be irritated or impressed and then walks back the way he came, pulling the suit half out of the bag to handle the fine material.

 

“Where are you going with that?”

 

“To change!” Ren hollers back.

 

“He’s taking this rather well, don’t you think?” Phasma says.

 

Brendol carefully opens the bag and checks the color of his own suit.  It looks to be in order; the silver-gray with white trim he picked out.  They won’t match at all.  Ren’s is simply a sleeker variation of the robes he’s most comfortable in.  His own is a simple tunic and slacks that recall the clean lines of his uniform.  He wouldn’t bother with the extravagance if it weren’t for the fact that the old superstitions hold strong, even in the First Order.  A wedding requires new clothes for a new life.  Old clothes are inauspicious.

 

He motions for Phasma to follow him.

 

“What’s my role here exactly, Ge--  Hux...”

 

“We need an objective witness.  It can’t be a relation-- not that we’d have any to ask if it could be.  You will merely be required to wind the chain and make the pronouncements.  Are you comfortable with that?”

 

“Sure.  Why is this all happening _now?”_

 

“Because I want it to,” he says shortly, tired of being questioned about his choices.  The truth is more complicated.  He’s done a lot of thinking in his time alone and there are certain things he’s finally allowed himself to consider.  The most pressing is that Ren, regardless of what happens to Brendol, will still learn and grow as a force-user.  How close his husband might come to Snoke’s fate haunts him.  But if it’s inevitable that after his own death Ren’s connection with the world might become tenuous then at least he can give as much of himself as possible while he has the chance.  It won’t just be legal affirmation, it will be a new vow he can make to the only man whose needs he’s ever put above his own.  The trappings are important.  Ren knows this already and Brendol’s finally beginning to understand it too.

 

With Phasma’s help he arranges a mat over a bare patch of grass and hands her the small velvet bag he’s brought with him.

 

“This is the drawing-chain.  You have the instructions on how to wrap it?”

 

“Memorized.  Don’t worry.”

 

He nods as he hands it to her and then goes back in the house to put on the clothes he’ll be finally formally married in.

 

*** 

 

The ceremony is simple.  They face one another in a kneeling position.  Ren, looking uncommonly handsome in his new robes, reaches out to take his hands and Phasma loosely winds the loop of chain around their fingers.

 

“Kylo Ren,” she says in Brendol’s direction, “I am your comfort and you are mine.”

 

He’s considered saying the vows in the traditional Halla but he wants to hear the words as they’ll mean most to him; in the tongue they learned to speak in.

 

“Kylo Ren, I am your comfort and you are mine.”

 

“Brendol Hux the second,” she leads Ren, “I am your comfort and you are mine.”

 

“Brendol Hux, I am your comfort and you are mine.”  He clasps his hands a little tighter.

 

“By virtue of these vows you are bound together.  What this chain encompasses no mortal may divide.”  She walks around them once and crosses her arms.

 

“Is there anything you wish to say to one another?”

 

“Phasma, would you kindly give us a moment.”

 

“Hux… Lord Ren…”  she nods to both and takes leave of them, walking just far enough to be out of earshot.

 

“This isn’t part of the traditional ceremony,” Brendol explains.  “These vows are for your ears alone.”

 

Ren is staring at him, clearly mystified.  Those dark eyes focus on his own so intently that he almost forgets the small speech he’s prepared.  Put him on a platform in front of a crowd and he’s a natural speaker.  How is it that kneeling in the grass a foot away from his husband he can’t even get the words to form?  He clears his throat, tightens his grip on Ren’s hands, and bows his head slightly.

 

“I have given the life that came before in service to the First Order.  In this I have no regrets.  But the First Order is no longer my concern except where it concerns you.  I serve no master but he who kneels before me.  What’s left of this life is for you.” He glances back up at his husband.

 

Ren opens his mouth as if to speak and then closes it.  He looks down at the ground.

 

“I don’t know what to say,” he finally admits.

 

“Your acceptance would be sufficient.”

 

“No.”  He laughs-- that low husky laugh Brendol loves so much.  “I mean, yes, of course I accept.  But I wish I had something for you.”

 

Ren leans forward just enough to press their foreheads together.  It’s an awkward angle but Brendol is touched by the earnestness of the gesture.

 

“You’re my only weakness,” he says finally, “and my greatest strength.”

 

They lean together, neither speaking, until Phasma approaches again.

 

“Are you ready?”  She asks, kneeling in front of them.

 

“You may proceed.”

 

Phasma gently unwinds the chain and places it in his hands.

 

“Brendol,” she says with a nod.

 

“Thank you, Malahirel,” he murmurs.  He comes around to kneel behind Ren and brushes his hair aside so he can fasten the chain around his neck.

 

Ren fingers the chain admiringly and then smiles up at his husband; an open, genuine smile despite Phasma’s presence.  

 

“This is for me?”

 

“It’s generally not worn at all.  Drawing-chains were traditionally kept with family heirlooms.  But it would honor me if you would wear ours.”

 

Ren stands and helps him to his feet.

 

“Of course I will.”

 

“You’re married, by the way,” Phasma informs them.

 

Ren looks as though he wants to kiss him but Brendol will do nothing of the sort with Phasma hovering.  Instead he takes Ren’s arm, which seems somehow more proper, and walks him back towards the house at a leisurely pace.  The sun is setting and the wind is picking up.  It will be nice to sit on the benches behind the house around the glow of the heat lamp and drink the bottle of Corellian rum that he’s asked Phasma to procure.  It’s nice to have something to celebrate; even if it is only for the three of them.

 

When they’re settled in a semi circle watching the flickering glow of the lamp, Phasma pours each of them a half-cup and adds kavas and water from two smaller bottles.  Brendol doesn’t mind it neat but Ren is a lightweight and he himself ought to keep sharp around company.

 

“That was lovely,” Phasma says, taking a sip of hers.  She makes a face and tops it off with more kavas.  He wonders if she drinks much at all.

 

Ren slips an arm around his waist and Brendol startles and gently untucks it.  He can almost feel Ren’s non-verbal protest at being rebuffed, but he doesn't argue and allows himself be nudged him back into place. But while Brendol is trying for casual and appropriate, as if nothing is out of the ordinary, Phasma already has knowing smile.  She brings the cup back up to her lips and that ghost of a smirk is ironed back out by the time she lowers it.

 

“It's quiet here,” she offers after another beat, likely figuring that it's a safe subject. Or that it might give them something to talk about. But the answer he offers is short.

 

“It is.”

 

He punctuates that a small nod, looking pleased about it. And he is, that much shouldn't surprise her. He's never particularly liked the noise and chaos that war brings, but it's a necessary evil. That's Ren’s playground, not his. So the solitude and quiet has been nice.

 

He doesn't say any of that aloud though, feeling like it’s more information than Phasma really wants. In the silence that follows he feels an arm slip back around his waist, clearly undeterred by his earlier readjustment.

 

“It's--nice,” he adds pointlessly, another attempt to keep Phasma distracted while he reaches around to take Ren’s wrist and put it back where it belongs. He's a little more firm this time, sparing a quick but stern glance over at Ren, who already looks a little glassy-eyed.

 

This time, Phasma gives a little nod of her own, polite but unconvinced.  Her gaze flickers back and forth between the pair of them and that sly grin reappears and she asks instead:

 

“Do you two spend a lot of time here together?”

 

The question catches Brendol off-guard. It's a bit more personal than he's accustomed to, and even though it's hardly intrusive an answer doesn't immediately come to mind. He shrugs, opens his mouth in an attempt to force something out, but before he can get that far there’s a nudge against his side. Ren shifts against him, pressing as close as he can without actually wrapping his arm around him. He's clearly learned his lesson there but seems to think that it's just an invitation to be more creative.

 

Brendol spares another quick glance over, and notices that Ren’s cup is nearly empty already. His own is barely down to half. And in the time it takes him to realize it Phasma’s leaned over to pour a little more rum into Ren’s awaiting cup before putting the rest of the bottle safely out of reach.

 

He wants to glare at her but he can't manage it. Instead he just sighs as Ren murmurs a thanks and takes another sip.  She raises a brow and makes a small gesture, "toasting" with her own cup.

 

Luckily, Ren sets his drink aside after that. But Brendol’s relief is short lived when he realizes he likely only did it so he might have both hands free again.

 

“We appreciate your help, Phasma,” Ren offers, the first he's spoken in a while. Of course he has to go and ruin the sentiment by sliding a large, warm hand over Brendol’s thigh; an idle caress that has the former general flushing hot in a fraction of a second. He gives a weak chuckle to try and mask it.

 

“Absolutely. We do appreciate it,” he adds, clearing his throat as he carefully removes Ren’s hand from his leg. But in doing so Ren laces their fingers together instead, and Brendol can't bring himself to pull away. It's still perhaps a bit more intimacy than he'd like to show in front of Phasma, but it's a simple gesture, and Ren’s insistent touch has his chest going tight all over again.

 

He isn't sure how long the silence stretches on, but surely it must be a while for Phasma to suddenly breach another topic. It's quiet when she speaks, low and almost bittersweet.

 

“I wish you'd reconsider, Hux.”

 

It's another sentence he doesn't expect but isn’t surprised by.  He doesn’t look up, not because he can't bring himself to look her in the eye but because it's hard to tear his gaze from Ren, who's leaning into him--a solid, comfortable warmth running all along his side.

 

He doesn't quite intend for it to come out, but the answer is there in his head without even having to consider it.

 

“I have other responsibilities now,” he murmurs, letting his thumb rub gently over the backs of Ren’s knuckles where their hands are still intertwined. It's an automatic gesture born of a sudden swell of affection for his partner.  Ren must feel it too because he pulls back just a little to look at him with those irresistible dark eyes.  For a moment Ren looks like he might lean in to kiss him, and as much as he might want to Brendol still has enough of a mind to put a stop to it with a gentle but stern clearing of his throat.

 

Ren has the decency to look almost apologetic about it, but in the end it probably doesn’t matter much. Brendol is fairly certain that Phasma can see right through them anyway, judging by the way she watches them, a smile playing across her lips when she finally answers:

 

“Yes. I can see that.  Excuse me, I just need need to use use your--” she jerks her thumb back in the direction of the door and then stands, stretches, and goes inside.

 

He turns towards Ren who catches him in a disarmingly tender kiss and promptly loses track of time worrying at that plush lower lip with his teeth.  His mouth is absolutely delectable; rum is sweet and kavas is sweeter.

 

And that’s how Phasma finds them when she returns.  Brendol isn’t sure how long she’s been standing there but she’s seen more than enough.  Ren doesn’t even have the manners to look abashed.  He’s definitely feeling the effects of the drink.

 

Brendol clears his throat as she tips her head to one side and gives him a _look._ So this is the image she’s going to be taking back with her; her former commander and one formerly intimidating Master of the Knights of Ren having at one another like randy adolescents.

 

“Well, it’s getting quite late,” Phasma says.

 

“Really?  The sun’s barely set.”

 

“She’s right.  It’s late.  We should go to bed,” Ren offers unhelpfully.

 

Brendol puts a hand to his forehead and winces.  Bad enough Ren can’t keep his hands off him, now he’s lost his brain to mouth filter.

 

“I’m sorry, Phasma.  We may have over-imbibed a bit.”  By “we” he means Ren but it goes without saying.

 

“Right.  Well I’ll be sleeping in the shuttle.”  She puts a hand up to forestall any objection.  “Don’t even try to offer me a bed for the night.  I’m a light sleeper.  I’d prefer not to be distracted.  See you in the morning.”

 

She shoots a wicked grin in their direction and tosses back the dregs of her own cup as she walks back towards the field.

 

“I don’t suppose there’s a point to even pretending we’re going to stay out here any longer?”

 

“Just a little longer,” Ren says, taking the opportunity to wrap himself fully around his husband and busy his mouth with a spot just under his jaw.

 

“Oh,” Brendol sighs as he tips his head back, unable to help himself.  He curls his fingers in that dark hair.

 

When Ren pulls away he’s flushed from the drink and lust-sick in the eyes.

 

“Will you promise me something, Brell?”

 

 _Anything._  

 

“There’s a future out there for us.  One in which no one who knew Ben Organa is still alive to hurt me.”

 

Ren stares at him steadily now, waiting for the unspoken question to sink in.

 

“Is that what you really want?”

 

“It is.”

 

A fierce protectiveness stirs in him.  This is something he is more than capable of.  His path in the world is to define order; to bring chaos to heel by any means necessary.  Whether that means terminating life on the grand scale to send a message or taking out some demons from the past so his beloved can sleep at night, it’s all the same.  It’s what he’s good at.  

  
“If that’s what my _Tavva-Silhar_ wants then I promise he shall have it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter requires the greatest thanks to Jakathine, who helped with Hux's dialogue. Please check out her work, she's a fantastic writer in this fandom!
> 
> 7/7 edit: check out the fanart that Katherine1753 did for this story, [here](http://katherine1753.tumblr.com/post/147065514304/what-this-chain-encompasses-no-mortal-may), it's amazing!
> 
> 8/2 edit: and more fanart from Katherine of [the wedding vows!](http://katherine1753.tumblr.com/post/148113689879/i-have-given-the-life-that-came-before-in-service)

**Author's Note:**

> We hope you enjoy reading this as much as PolypusRegina and I do working on it. It is a labor of love to cap this series that has been the focus of my evenings for the past month. Thanks for all the awesome support.
> 
> 7/14 edit: Katherine has outdone herself!!!! Here is some beautiful NSFW art from this chapter: [with a blushy butt too!](http://katherine1753.tumblr.com/post/147416094752/but-sometimes-his-knight-needs-a-firm-hand-to)


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